


The Still

by Toyota_Hobbies



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comedy, Crack, Illegal moonshine, Or I hope it's funny?, The lobby is a very interesting place, There is a sentient room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toyota_Hobbies/pseuds/Toyota_Hobbies
Summary: The Still, as it came to be known, has, as far as we know, always existed. As provided by the Barratiel, angel of support, there are three constants in the Universe: Good, Evil, and The Still. (Incorrectly quoted from herself in the unofficially famous interrogation directed by the Archangel Gabriel, “There are three constants in the Universe: Good, Evil, and Whatever This Is.” SeeInterrogation.)Or, how Crowley and Aziraphale introduced cheap alcohol to Heaven and Hell.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	The Still

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley brewing illegal alcohol is so pERFECT

**Official research on the continued existence of The Still.  
By Amitiel, angel of truth.**

Introduction: _The Still, as it came to be known, has, as far as we know, always existed. As provided by the Barratiel, angel of support, there are three constants in the Universe: Good, Evil, and The Still. (Incorrectly quoted from herself in the unofficially famous interrogation directed by the Archangel Gabriel, “There are three constants in the Universe: Good, Evil, and Whatever This Is.” See **Interrogation.** )_

_With additional information provided by Raziel, angel of mysteries, I present my research on how it came to be and how it survived many attempts of destruction throughout the millennia, ultimately driving some Archangels and a few Princes of Hell into minor madness, in the hopes of helping to better understand what The Still really is, [REDACTED] and showing the ridiculous angel of mysteries that there is a perfect logical explanation for The Still._

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It all started somewhere around 1095. Or at least, this is what most involved parties would tell in case they were ever questioned. However, there are some evidences that the whole ordeal had happened once before, and much earlier, as early as the Garden of Eden, in a failed and highly illegal experiment atop the Eastern Gate, that would have culminated with the discorporation of an angel and a demon by accidently walking off the wall, but this is considered a conspiracy theory.

The crusades had just begun. One side had been influenced by Heaven, and the other side by Hell, though no one remembers who did what anymore. A certain angel would rather have been around the leader of one of the sides persuading them to call the whole thing off, while his _acquaintance_ did the same thing on the other side.

After all, if Hell wanted to cause the war, then it would be his duty to stop the hellish scheme, right? And vice-versa for his acquaintance.

And that was probably why Aziraphale was in the castle that marked the entrance to both Heaven and Hell instead, stuck as the concierge for the time being.

 _“We have enough people on the field right now working on the crusades, so why not gift our most trusted field agent with time of light duty?”_ were the words Gabriel had chosen, once Aziraphale told him about the possibility of stopping the war.

“It will be good. I will have time to think and repent about any sin I may have committed this last millennia.” Aziraphale reasoned to himself. There were quite a lot of sins he had committed, he knew. But they were done with the best of intentions only, nothing too big, really. He refrained his mind from drifting to his acquaintance. “With no earthly pleasures to tempt me.” He shivered. “No food, no books...”

He was sorting letters. Honestly, there were too many letters. Hadn’t the last concierge done his work? It must have been a demon doing the job last time, because some letters dated back to B.C. Well, if anything it would be a kindness to finally deliver all those tardy letters. Did no one ever question why their letters were never delivered?

The concierge job was summed up to kicking out any human that accidently wandered inside the building and sorting out the mail.

Those were the official duties. What said on the paper.

Then, there were the unofficial duties.

Two explicit but unspoken jobs that the concierge was expected to perform. The most important one was to stop any fights in the main lobby. No one wanted the small _incident_ from 666 B.C and the official sequel in 666 A.D to happen again.

The second one, was giving directions to any being who was coming down – or up – to Earth. The official documents often forgot to add a map to help the new guys, and the humans made Earth more complex every day, with new countries and cities and whatnot. Even more unofficially, the concierge was expected to give the wrong or right directions depending on whether said new guy came from the same place as the doorman.

In the end, some mind games happened. Did the demon tell the right direction because they expected the angel to expect them to give the wrong directions and would, therefore, go in the contrary direction? Or would just giving the wrong path be enough, and the gullible angel would follow it down and be surprised to be lost in Antarctica after weeks of travelling?

There was not anyone leaving or coming back at the moment though, because everyone was already in the field, ready for the great incoming Holy War. Which was, in Aziraphale’s opinion, a ridiculous name. How could any war ever be holy?

The lobby was very, very, lonely. So, he threw himself body and soul to the job of sorting letters. 

The resolution lasted a day and a half.

He needed a drink, badly.

He did not bring anything with him, because anything from Earth would have been taken away when he reported to his superiors in order to get the lobby keys. This job was, after all, a chance for _purification._

But there had to be _something_ around there, certainly. How did the former concierges keep their sanity?

If you can’t bring anything from outside, you have to create something from the inside.

Aziraphale made sure there wasn’t anyone looking. There wasn’t anyone. There was never anyone, really. He checked again just to be sure, and made his way to a corner of the castle inside a small, quite well-hidden room, that was more of a cupboard than anything.

He had scouted that room earlier, and the location and lack of a label made Aziraphale sure of what there should be inside.

A voice came from the room as soon as the angel entered.

“No! _Where_ did this come from?!”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, surprised to see his acquaintance there. “Crowley?” This had not been what he expected to find inside the room.

The demon was sprawled inside the dark room, his limbs tangled under a very confused and complex looking set of bowls and hoses. The room lacked illumination, and there were objects thrown around, suggesting the place was used as a deposit of unwanted stuff. Crowley was now trying to free one of his arms from inside a very thick hose. Bright yellow eyes looked up to the angel at the door.

“Aziraphale? Weren’t you trying to stop the crusades?” Crowley propped his head on his hand that was not currently busy fighting the hose, trying for a suave pose that failed grandiosely.

“Weren’t _you_ trying to stop the crusades?” 

“Ehkkn, point taken.” Crowley whispered. “Did you miracle all this into existence?”

Aziraphale blinked. Places like that had stills. _Always_. Alcohol was needed in order to keep sane in a job like that, and it only stood to reason that the other people who came before Aziraphale had left something like that behind. It was as much of an unspoken rule as the jobs expected of the concierge. If the machinery where the demon was tangled didn’t exist before the angel entered the room, then the lobby had just been gently reminded that the existence of the still was to be expected. The scene before Aziraphale only confirmed his belief that the lobby had obscure rooms with illegal moonshine.

“I needed a drink.”

Crowley nodded. “Fair enough.”

He stepped inside to help disentangle the demon from all the parts and back to his feet. “So, you miracled an entire moonshine still into existence? I like the way you think.” Crowley looked at all the parts awaiting to be put to use, then shrugged. “So, what are ya doing here?”

“Ah, they caught me trying to talk the humans out of it and suggested I took the doorman job for some time. You?”

”Same thing here, angel. Not staying ‘round there to see the blood bath.” Then he laughed, that boyish sound that rarely came from the demon. “You can take the gate from the guardian, but not the guardian from the gate.”

“You are also on concierge duty?” he looked at his companion, surprised, and then smiled. There had never been two concierges at the same time.

Crowley frowned. “Nah, not the part about the concierge job. Just in hiding until they forget about me again. Someone might have seen me whispering in the human’s ears, who knows.”

Which still left Aziraphale with the question of whether the demon just frequently used the room in the lobby to hide from his superiors, or if he chose the place because Aziraphale would be stuck there and therefore unable to escape any annoyance Crowley might wish to bestow upon him.

“Why here?”

“It’s the lobby, angel. There is _something_ about it. You can’t, like, track down anyone in here.”

“Hiding under their noses. That’s the wily serpent I know.” He grinned, halfhearted, knowing that the elephant in the room could not be kept in the room much longer. “So, they are still going to wage that Holy War?” Aziraphale asked, looking at the ground that suddenly seemed very interesting.

“Yeah. Good time for that drink?” The angel felt a hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Oh dear, we shouldn’t waste such good tools, should we?” The angel smiled at the corner of his lips.

Crowley grinned in response, squeezing the angel’s shoulder. “That would be a sin.”

It took a few days and some miracles to get the whole thing working, but the still was soon ready to be used. At first angel and demon tried to use the best ingredients to make their wine, but no matter how expensive, no matter the quality of the fruits that popped into existence, the little still only produced the cheapest wine either of them had ever tasted.

It smelled like smoke. The taste was weird, it felt too sweet at first, like strawberry mixed with chocolate, and as one drank it, the taste begun to change to salty and bitter, almost like saltwater. It was strange, a bad mix of tastes, and was something that a seller would offer a youngster who had finally reached the age to drink and was looking for any wine that their money could buy. And the seller would offer this kind of bad wine because no one experienced would buy that crap.

Why the wine was also green was anyone’s guess.

But it was very efficient at getting people drunk.

And there were two people-shaped beings putting the green moonshine to use, sitting comfortably on the ground.

“This! This, my friend...” Crowley said, gesturing to the still he was leaning against.

“Not your friend, you are a demon... I think.” Aziraphale said, gladly drinking the moonshine. His mind only ever got that hazy after some liters of alcohol, this wine was very competent.

“Okay, right, yeah, not my friend, so my angel then?”

“Sounds right.” Aziraphale shrugged.

“So, anyway, this, my angel... _This_ is the worst wine I’ve ever drinked. Drank. Drunk? Doesn’t taste like wine _at all_. Thisss iss ssshit.” He said, drinking more. The machinery hummed under his hand, happy with the compliment.

“Of course it’s wine, Crowley, what else would that be?” Aziraphale asked.

The demon looked fiercely down at the liquid in his glass, turned it around a little, smelled it and licked the surface again, then said, his voice merely a whisper. “Dunno. Shite wine to a shite war.”

“To all the lives who shall be lost in the crusades.” Aziraphale raised his glass.

“Yeah.” Crowley said, clinking his glass against Aziraphale’s. “Don’t your lot name every room Upstairs? We should totally, uuh, name this room.”

Aziraphale bounced in place. “Stillery. Wine room. Winery?”

“No, too obvious. What ‘bout... ‘Lost Room.’”

“Amazing.”

A paper appeared on the door, written with a very drunk calligraphy: _Lost Room_. The room gave a proverbial sigh, satisfied at finally having a purpose.

Not too many years later and after the Crusades were far too gone to be stopped, Aziraphale was relieved from his doorman duty and allowed to go back to his field agent duties, and the demon Crowley mysteriously reappeared after having been declared dead during the crusades. A demon by the name D assumed his place as concierge.

The angel Barratiel had been chosen to clean the lobby. She was the only one who had ever cleaned the lobby. The lobby was only cleaned once every century, and the least liked angel was chosen to do the job. This encouraged the other angels to be always kind to the others, in order to avoid cleaning duty. The demons didn’t care about cleaning, and having the lobby always clean had the advantage of annoying the opposition.

Aziraphale would have been chosen to do the job simply because no one ever saw him around, so he would be the perfect scapegoat to do it, but his platoon was surprisingly vocal and loyal. He most likely didn’t even know about this whole thing.

While Barratiel cleaned the place, cursing every angel who had ever thought her annoying just because of her motivational speeches and posters, she heard giggles.

She followed the sound to a small room in a corner labeled as “Lost Room”. It was funny, she thought, because she was sure that small room was never used for anything, except the snake that sometimes slept in there. Inside was the concierge, utterly sloshed on the green liquid. The Room made a special effort to make the scent of the drink a tad bit stronger and drift to the angel, and she got drunk just by the wine’s strong smell, and not much else was needed to convince her to taste a little.

Sadly, the Archangels did not know what being drunk meant.

_What follows is a transcription of the interrogation directed by the Archangel Gabriel after finding Barratiel roaming the halls of Heaven, drunk and talking gibberish, [REDACTED] Well, more gibberish than usual, and trying to use a broom as a means of transportation._

**Interrogation**

**Gabriel:** Name and Function.

 **Barratiel:** _[Giggles, eyes are a little glassy and unfocused]_ Barratiel, angel of support. I like mushrooms, but they aren’t plants, [whispers] but the humans don’t know that yet. Maybe if I make some motivational posters, the mushrooms will want to become plants.

 **Gabriel:** Can you tell me why you were found roaming Heaven after abandoning the janitor duty?

 **Barratiel:** Cleaning sucks, chose someone else, I have been cleaning _[hiccups, laughs]_ since the fucking Fall, my dude. You all should make an angel of cleaning!

 **Gabriel:** Alright, can you tell me what got you like this?

 **Barratiel:** _[Looks around, as if she doesn’t know where the voice comes from]_ The green thingy. The concierge shared with me.

 **Gabriel:** The green thingy?

 **Barratiel:** In that one room... The ‘Lost Room’.

 **Gabriel:** Where is this room? Is it the first time you saw it?

 **Barratiel:** [Shrugs] Guess it’s always been their... there? It’s always been there. In the back of the lobby, in a corner.

 **Gabriel:** How does this ‘green thingy’ works?

 **Barratiel:** You drink it. Like humans do. And it makes you go, ‘woooow’.

 **Gabriel:** ‘Wooow’?

 **Barratiel:** Yessir.

 **Gabriel:** Was it the first time you saw the ‘green thingy’?

 **Barratiel:** _[Leans on the table, focuses on Gabriel]_ There are three constants in the Universe: Good, Evil, and Whatever That Was. It’s always been there.

**[End]**

A small army of avenging angels barged the room, where they found a very drunk and very smiteable demon. They tore the still _[Raziel’s sources claim it was still lowercase “still” at the time.]_ down.

If only they knew what had just been started.

Heaven and Hell do have, after all, the first and oldest grapevine in existence.

**Documents of the Lost Room smite**

**Target(s):** A minor demon named ‘D’ and his strange substance.

 **Local:** Room named ‘Lost Room’, in the lobby between Heaven and Hell.

 **Angels involved in the smite:** Archangel Michael, angels Jehoel, Kushiel and Puriel.

 **Details:** The strange machinery capable of producing a devilish substance of which objective is to take angels astray from the Lord’s light, has been successfully destroyed. The ‘Lost Room’ has been removed from existence and put in the Limbo. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

_The still was forgotten by the parties responsible for its creation, at least for some time. It was considered just another night of drinking far from the sights of Heaven or Hell. But the whole ordeal that started with the weird green liquid and ended with the smiting of an entire room became a legend that was whispered in the halls of Above and Below, between the low ranked beings. Every now and then, groups searched the lobby for a room labeled ‘Lost Room’, but it was never found. This didn’t stop then from coming down – or up – every now and then to have something that resembled fun. The job of stopping fights in the lobby had never been so hard._

_The higher ranked beings knew of the strange behavior popular among the lower ranks, but only ever received dismissive answers when they asked._

_Because angels never lie, and the demons were willing to endure a little bit more torture to keep the small tradition alive, the authorities decided to officially ignore the waves of angels and demons that were now frequently roaming the lobby, and the phantom tradition was kept alive until the next big mark of the story of The Still._

_**By Raziel, who has observed the behavior for millennia.** _

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Around the years of 1340, the Principality Aziraphale was asked three times to help in the Hundred Years’ war.

The first time, he said no, because he was busy helping the families who were suffering with the loss of relatives in the war.

The second, he said no, because he was tracking down a demon (whose name he did not mention) in order to thwart him, and isn’t thwarting a demon more important than helping humans make their wars? As if they needed any help.

The third time, he was hiding from the war with said demon in a small house in Oceania, but the official response said no, only stating that Oceania is quite far from Europe really, the war would be already over when he got there!

Once more, Aziraphale saw himself in concierge duty, with a demon hiding from his superiors there with him. He sometimes felt like the Archangels would rather just get rid of him, but were unable to do so for some reason.

The difference now was that there were quite a few angels and, sometimes, demons, roaming the lobby, looking at the rooms, exploring, though Aziraphale had no idea why. The lobby had always been ignored by both factions, after all.

“The place’s gotten quite popular.” Aziraphale commented to the small snake under the counter, once more committed to the duty of sorting out letters that were centuries late, since there didn’t seem to be any fights breaking out at the moment.

“Was a better hiding place when no one came around. Except that one janitor, I think her name was Barratiel? Yes, she never questioned a snake sleeping in a random room in the back. Just went on and on and on about plans for personal development.”

“Do you think the still is there?” Aziraphale asked, interrupting his motion of putting the letter in their piles.

The snake hissed. “Might be. No one ever goes exploring this place. I don’t remember miracling it out of existence. Was very smashed with that terrible thing we called wine.”

“I think I just left it there, too. Let’s go and take a look.”

He hid the snake inside his coat and walked to the back of the lobby. There were less people there, as the visitors seemed to be mostly just chatting around the entrance. Which was weird, because Aziraphale did not remember ever seeing his brethren _chatting._

Because both angel and demon expected the room to be there, it was. Back from Limbo, the gray door with the label ‘Lost Room’ had just been waiting to be summoned back into service by her creators. The room vibrated a little in welcome to the pair and helpfully opened the door so they could enter. The time in Limbo had been hard and lonely. There wasn’t anyone to consume the green liquid The Room so dutifully produced, and it was ecstatic to finally be back to work. It spent years rebuilding the still that had been destroyed by the angels, waiting the moment it would be needed once more.

The machinery lived on. It looked as new as it had been when Crowley and Aziraphale built it, piece by piece. The snake wiggled to the ground and transformed back to his preferred shape. Crowley caressed one of the hoses fondly.

“Look, it was just waiting for us to come back.” He said, with too much reverence destined only to some weird moonshine. The still warmed under his hand, like a purring kitten.

“I have taken some classes. On wines. I believe I can make something good this time.”

“I don’t think you can make anything bad.” Crowley teased.

“Lowercase good, demon.” Aziraphale grunted.

Crowley miracled some ingredients into existence. If Aziraphale remembered well what the monks had taught him, they should soon be consuming the purest mountain wine in the entire world in no time. They were only a little surprised when the green goo came out anyways. The Room huffed; how dare those two try and teach it what kind of wine it should make? 

The two laughed at the green thing.

“Somehow, I knew it.” Crowley said, pouring the green liquid to his companion.

“To refusing to assist in creating wars.” Aziraphale raised his glass.

The demon flinched and lowered his glass, hiding his free hand in his pocked. A shadow passed through his expression and his shoulders sagged, making him look quite tired and old. Aziraphale looked at him, bemused.

“I... I can’t cheer to that, angel.” He shook his head, and Aziraphale hated the sadness in that motion.

The angel stuttered for a few moments, then smiled.

“Well, to sneakily... err... not spending energy in stupid quests.” He raised his glass once more.

The demon grinned, though there were still some twinges of sadness in those eyes. “I can cheer to that.”

They drank and, as was usual with the weird green liquid, they were very drunk after only one cup.

“Do you know, there are like, pink dolphins?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Do not try to deceive me with your lies, fiend.”

“No, no, no, no, there really are pink dolphins!” He made broad gestures with his arms. “They are pink!”

“Why would they be pink? They are gray like, like Gabriel’s suits. Gabriel’s gray like a dolphin.” The angel giggled.

“That’s beside the point, everyone knows Gabriel’s gray like a dolphin. I’m talking about the pink ones though.”

“The dolphins?”

“Yes, pink. They leave the water sometimes.”

“No way.”

“Oh, they do. And you know what they do?” Crowley asked, leaning closer to Aziraphale as he spoke.

“Do tell me, dear boy.” He nodded.

Crowley leaned closer to his ear and whispered, as if sharing a secret. “They seduce people.”

Aziraphale gasped, then looked at Crowley. “Shameless bastards! Why would anyone be seduced by a dolphin?”

“I don’t know, they are pink!”

“Cool! What is a ‘dolphin’?” Said a third voice that Aziraphale could swear had not been there moments ago. The Room shrugged in response to the confusion. Judging by the clothing, he was a demon.

“Who are you, kid?” Crowley hissed.

“D. The concierge.” He extended a hand to the other two.

Aziraphale frowned. “Ah, no, _I_ am the concierge.”

D shook his head, giving a small laugh and retracting his hand when neither took it. “Well guess they just forgot to tell me my sentence was done. Good to know the room is back. Thought I had hallucinated that whole room smite. Had a good headache from this green thing last time.” He drank from his own glass.

“They smote the room?” Aziraphale asked, confused.

“And me!” D nodded with enthusiasm.

“It’ssss jussst sssome moonshine.” Crowley winced, his voice quite squeaky.

“I know, right?”

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale could quite remember much of what happened in there. The green wine had gotten them drunk to the point of minor amnesia before they could sober up. Had they remembered, they would have been worried that a random demon now knew that they were the ones who created The Room, and that this information could easily be accidently slipped to their superiors, which would attract unwanted attention.

What happened, however, was that the many low ranks who made a habit out of scouting the lobby, looking for the evasive room, were very happy to finally find the result of what had been their pet project for the last three centuries.

The concierge had a new unspoken job: make sure no drunk personnel entered Heaven or Hell. Sobering up first was required, so that their respective bosses would not find out about the (newly named) Still _[According to Raziel’s sources, this was the first known use of the word ‘Still’ with capitalized letters]_ and destroy The Room (again), whether because it was a distraction from their duties, sinning and ingestion of unnecessary gross matter (in the angels’ case) or because having a drink with friends was too pleasant and not properly demonic (in the demons’ case).

It was an accessible place, because one did not need paperwork to go to the lobby, only to go to Earth.

It did not take too long for The Room to be used as a place to meet up, have a drink and blow up steam from the jobs Above and Below. What was better than drinking the weird green wine after a day of temptations or blessings? Where was the best place to sit and fill in your reports than that room? An uneasy truce happened when inside that room between the pleasantry of Heaven and Hell. Stabbing, fighting, smiting, murder, and theft were still accepted in the outskirts of the Still. It was a safe place if you were inside the room, but still dangerous if someone from the other side got you before you could enter. Angels would smite unsuspecting demons just before they could get to the door, and vice-versa, despite the doorman trying to stop such fights. The Room became a secret whispered in the halls, from demon to demon and from angel to angel, and only to individuals who could be trusted not to spill the secret to the authorities.

Just like that, the angels and demons too unimportant to even get a visit to Earth in order to perform small miracles or temptations inherited the Still. And the room as a whole decided to experiment with creating different types of foods from time to time. One could occasionally find different types of food waiting on a table stolen from Beelzebub’s office that now resided in the Still (that had been a very complex theft).

At first, no one _talked_ about it. They just came and went. But as a few centuries went by, another unspoken rule was created, a truce not to discorporate anyone in the lobby, making of the place the safest one for any celestial beings. Not that their bosses knew that. At least, not officially. The whole thing was very illegal, and the peace that most of the times reigned within those walls would be considered unacceptable.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

_Officially, the commanders of Heaven and Hell did not know about the Still. Unofficially, however, Michael had seen her secretary get to work still tipsy with hangover, (the concierge was expected to not let anyone drunk out of the lobby, whether or not he succeeded was another matter entirely, and in the secretary’s defense, sobering up was a skill hard to master) Beelzebub had seen demons passing along suspicious bottles between each other when they thought they weren’t looking, and Dagon and Uriel may or may not have acquired and tasted some for themselves at some point._

_The problem was, they couldn’t try and destroy the Still again. At that point, destroying the Still would cause a riot. Maybe the angels would only fill out polite complaints, but the demons would start an all-out civil war, for sure. And with Armageddon coming around soon, they could not risk any chaos._

_And so, the Still was left alone, its dwellers handing on the green moonshine in dark corners of Hell and slightly less dark corners of Heaven. The Archangels and Princes of Hell alike turned a blind eye to the thing brewed in the lobby, promptly ignoring the sudden interest their legions seemed to have in the place between Heaven and Hell._

_Gabriel had more than once awkwardly ignored angels hurrying to hide bottles when he walked by and, sometimes, other typed of earthly foods._

_While their leaders planned their war, the many angels and demons went about with their lives, and at least understood why humans liked their pubs so much._

_The lobby changed. Instead of an old castle, it became a tall executive building. The Still, however, remained unchanged, except for the new decorations the angels and demons could smuggle inside from time to time._

_**By Amitiel.** _

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

But Armageddon never came. Ironically, those responsible for stopping it were the same ones who created the Still – though they never really got to know the proportions to which their little experiment grew.

To say that most of the soldiers in both sides had been quite sloshed before the expected war was cancelled would be a euphemism.

To be honest, most of the ordinary angels and demons were fine with the outcome. They would have missed their fellows who hung around the lobby, and the Still would not have been the same with half their inhabitants missing.

The Room in particular was pleased, happy, that it would be able to continue to accomplish its function, to offer a place to escape to when needed, a place where which side you belonged to did not matter and reluctant friendships grew.

And when an angel and a demon went back to a certain bookshop after their dinner at the Ritz following their failed execution, there might have been two glasses filled with green wine waiting for them.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

_The Still is still (pun unintended) there, in the lobby. It has been just a month since the Armageddon, but witnesses have said both angels and demons just keep on doing whatever they did before the War proved to be a failure, ignoring the lack of Armageddon in the classic ‘”Let Us Never Talk About That Again” way._

_No one knows for sure what is going to happen now, but judging by how Princes of Hell and Archangels alike seem to be breaking their minds as of now over were they went wrong, it is very likely that The Still will receive new visits._

_**By Raziel.** _

**End of report.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
